


2 AM knows all your secrets.

by Tealot



Category: The Boondock Saints RPF, The Walking Dead RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Hurt, Loneliness, Other, RPF Norman Reedus, References to Illness, Sadness, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:26:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tealot/pseuds/Tealot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self recrimination and guilt in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2 AM knows all your secrets.

**Author's Note:**

> One shot.  
> Fiction, of course.

When he couldn't cope, he took it to Church.  
Not church the place, God no.  
Church the guy.  
If you want an unbiased opinion on everything you've fucked up, are still fucking up, will fuck up in the future in your life, there's nobody better to go to than the one guy in town who can't fucking stand you, and that's exactly what he did.  
He needed to hear it, needed to have it confirmed...years, hell, a lifetime of hearing it meant nothing. Not anymore.  
Not now that she was gone.  
It'd been her he'd believed. Her he'd listened to. It'd been her words he'd acted on and every change for the good he'd made in himself he could credit...accurately or no, because a great deal of the credit rightfully belonged to him, something he refused to consider, would always refuse to consider....to her.  
That nobody knew this was unbearable to him. That nobody knew what kind of a force she'd been.  
That they had...had, in fact, known it before he had, before he'd even known her...before she'd picked him up off that curb and saved him...was something he was aware of but not really cognizant of. Not now.  
Not with this news still so fresh, this wound still bleeding so freely.  
Everyone he'd had here was gone, now.  
Jesse...God alone knew where he was. Gone, well and truly, unfindable.  
Now her, and while Jesse might one day come back...it seemed likely, he always had before and there was no reason to suppose this time would be any different....there would be no coming back for her.  
Three little boys had seen to that. Three little boys with a gun and no reason and her life was over, just like that. 8pm on a summer evening, still light outside, the streets in the quarter still choked with people.  
From what he'd been told she hadn't even been alone. And yet she was gone. Shot in the back and everything she was, everything she could have been, everything she was to the world... to HIM...vanished.  
Just that quick.  
"I found out in a BAR, Church."  
"I know you did. Elwin told me about it."  
"In a BAR. How could I not have known?"  
It was killing him, that he hadn't known. Hadn't felt something. Some change. Some emptiness.  
Though he had, hadn't he? He'd known when he couldn't find her that it wasn't just another bar relocation. He'd known when he'd gone into Tiki's and they'd shut him down, told him nothing but "she's not here anymore."  
He'd known when he'd gone to lost love and they'd refused to answer him.  
He'd known when he'd seen a drink named after her.  
Hell, if he wanted to be honest, the whole reason he was here was because he'd known when his letters came back to him.  
She'd moved, he knew that, but she'd kept the PO box. She'd promised him she would. Promised him that if he ever...truly...NEEDED her...not wanted, but NEEDED..she'd be there. She'd promised him she'd never make herself unreachable. She'd taken her number and she'd taken her address...his persistence making too much trouble for her in her new life, and that had hurt...God that had hurt, but he'd still understood.  
He had no ability to leave her alone. He couldn't NOT call. He couldn't NOT write. He couldn't NOT see her, hug her, hear her voice.  
"It's not healthy, baby."  
She'd told him. Told him as sweetly and matter of factly as only she could.  
"It's not good for you. You'll never get past it unless you make yourself leave it alone. I'll BE here. You can ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS write to me. You can always always always email me. You can IM me. But you have to create some physical space, honey. For both of us."

He'd tried but he hadn't been able to do it and she'd done it instead.  
Changed her number, changed her apartment. He couldn't just randomly call to hear her voice. He couldn't suddenly appear on her doorstep.  
But she answered his letters. For years she answered his letters, finally tapering off even on those, telling him she'd answer if there was something he needed, but otherwise...no.  
That she loved him.  
Loved him but couldn't be what he wanted her to be.  
He'd thought the word "heartbreak" a stupid melodramatic theatric until he'd felt it.  
But she'd kept her promise.  
She'd answered the letters that needed to be answered. She'd answered his emails the same way.  
She was there.  
And then she wasn't and his letters...letters begging her to just let him know she was ok...went unanswered.  
Her email ceased to exist.  
Then his letters came back. Her PO box wasn't hers anymore.  
He'd known.  
But he hadn't FELT it.  
He'd thought...prayed..hoped...thought...just thought, JUST THOUGHT that he'd come here and he'd find her working in a bar. That she'd see him and grin that rueful grin and shake her head with that sigh that said "you're such a goddamn mess" and hug him and tell him she loved him and then ask him "baby, when you gonna get this right in your head? what i'm gonna have to do to you?"  
And he'd be able to breathe again.  
That was it..he couldn't breathe.  
Wasn't sure he wanted to.  
And there was nobody to go to. Yeah there was Amy. She'd listen to him, she'd sympathize. She'd hug him. He didn't doubt she'd even throw in a sympathy fuck if that was what he wanted, but it wasn't and he wouldn't do that to her anyway.  
And he didn't want to talk to her.  
Or Elwin.  
They hadn't known her. Oh, they'd known who she was, known OF her.  
He needed someone who'd known her.  
Who knew him.  
Church.  
Church, who had once loved him the same way, who'd felt exactly what he'd been feeling all of this time. Church, who he'd let down in so many heinous ways he couldn't even count them. Church, who'd been nothing but good to him, who'd defended him at every turn, had his back without question....Church, who'd sat up with him when he was sick, and when he was too drunk to stand it, who'd talked him down when insanity picked him up and threatened to drop him, who'd come through time and time and time again and had only ever once...ONCE...asked for something in return. Nothing huge, just a little time. Just for someone to listen to him for a few minutes. In pain, he'd turned to someone he loved with his whole soul, and who claimed to love him...and been shit on, blown off, peaced out on.  
He'd been such a selfish prick and that he hadn't meant it really didn't matter.  
Church hated him, now. Hated him.  
Yet here he was again, on the other side of the bar, tending to his patrons and then immediately relocating to stand by him...to listen to him pour out this tale of woe.  
Again.  
He didn't know which of them was the more pathetic.  
"Why you even listening to me, Church?"  
"Why'd you come to me?"  
Why had he?  
He trailed his fingers along the bar, feeling that soft, spongy feel that every wooden surface in this swamp of a city seemed to have, felt the sticky scud of a hundred years worth of drinks, the ring of water his own glass...empty again but for some melting ice and he'd have to do something about that..had left.  
Why had he?  
He knew why, and it was abhorrent. HE was abhorrent.  
He didn't answer, not right then, instead shoving his glass across the bar, ignoring the bartenders sigh as he took and it and replaced it with a fresh one. A full one.  
He pulled it close, didn't pick it up. Couldn't.  
He felt like he was floating away, unanchored.  
Shaking his head he glanced up at Church, took him in, felt that floating feeling increase.  
He needed something to hang on to, something to remind his body, if not his mind, that the world was still here.  
Dug a fingernail into the soft, sticky, resin finish of the bar, picked it away, rolled it in his fingers until it disappeared, did it again...dug in harder, pulled back on the nail until it hurt.  
Better.  
Not enough, but better.  
Trailing fingertips found a crack in the wood, inserted a nail..and yes, that was it, it was deep enough he could lock it right in there and pull...and that pain felt good, grounding....deserved.

He might have pulled the nail right off if it hadn't been for Church.  
Would have.  
But Church saw. Church knew.  
Just when the pressure started to feel right, started to feel satisfying, here came Churchs hand, enveloping his. Not gently, no, because gently would have driven him insane right now.  
No, Churchs hand wrapped around his and squeezed...hard. Hard enough that he felt the small bones in his hand grind, and grinned....a deaths head grin but real enough for all that, barking out a humorless laugh at the bartenders muttered;  
"Don't hurt yourself, you don't have to. You're still here."  
Yeah, he was, but did he really want to be? There was so much guilt.  
More now, along with it, different guilt, as Church did that creepy thing he did, that he'd always done, seemingly picking the thoughts right out of his head.  
"Why you got so much guilt, baby? You didn't do her anything bad."  
"Didn't do her anything good, either."  
"You were friends, how's that not good?"  
"You know it was more than that."  
"I know. Can I let go without you tearing off a fingernail? I got customers."  
He pulled his hand back, picked up his drink, felt a nauseating, creeping embarassment slide up his spine. Why was he here with this man who hated him?  
Why was he putting them both through this awkward bullshit?  
Self recrimination mode took hold and his thoughts became audible...scathing.  
So you got some bad news, muffin. Guess what. It happens to everyone. Suck it up. So someone died, so what. You hadn't seen her in years. She wouldn't even speak to you. Hell she's been dead for MONTHS and you didn't even know it. Get over yourself. Are you really gonna sulk over the things you never told her? Why didn't you tell her? Are you seriously butthurt that she doesn't know about your show? Are you that shallow? You are that shallow because what the fuck were you thinking that at least she hadn't blown you off? What the fuck is WRONG with you?

He'd thrown the glass before he had any idea he was going to, the world suddenly taken over by flashing black, visuals gone, sensation and sound coming in humming bursts of vaccum that threatened to crack his skull.  
The crash of glass.  
Pain in his wrist, sharp and tearing.  
Church's voice, yelling..unintelligable.  
The taste of blood in his mouth, salty and metallic.  
The feel of his teeth, sunk deep into flesh and it felt good, it felt good.  
Hands in his hair, pulling....pulling hard, tearing it out and that felt good, too, christ jesus it felt good.  
Stark terror flaring up as something grabbed his head and held it while something else pushed at his face, at his mouth, pushed hard...so hard, jaw breakingly hard and he had no choice, he had to open his mouth, he had to stop biting, the pressure was too much...  
Churchs voice, yelling curses, and he could understand him now...that vaccum pulse coming slower, reality extended between flashes and he realized it was Church who had him pinned, that it was his own wrist his teeth were buried in, Church pushing it back into his mouth as hard as he could so he couldn't bite down anymore.  
Church....frightened and livid, the iron grip on him not lessening one bit as he leaned into his face and hissed;  
"Get out of my bar. Take your crazy bullshit and get out before you get me fucking fired."  
Church, giving him a brutal shove that almost knocked him over, pushing him away.  
Well.  
He deserved it.  
He swallowed blood, felt his stomach twist in protest and found himself relishing the sensation. At least it was real.  
"Don't forget this."  
He looked up as Church reached for his hand, pressed his credit card into it.  
"I didn't run it, tonights clusterfuck is on me. Now get the fuck out."  
He nodded, wiping blood from his face with his free hand and heading for the door, stopping just inside to tuck his card back into his wallet...freezing there in the doorway at the sight of the key, scotch taped to the back of his card, along with a scrawled address.  
He turned for a second, looking back at the bar, knowing he should walk right over there and give it back.  
Knowing how unfair of him it would be to take all this shit to Churchs HOME.  
Knowing, of course, why he'd come in the first place. Because he'd known.  
Church hated him. He did.  
But he'd never gotten over him, either. And he never would.  
But he was right to hate him.  
He slid the key into his pocket and slipped out the door into the night, going now to the only place left for him to go.


End file.
